


Is there anything left for me anymore?

by longhairQ



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairQ/pseuds/longhairQ
Summary: I can't see him anymore.
Relationships: Richmond Harrison/Hobbs Cain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	1. Where did you go?

I step up to the plate. My stance widens. The spikes on my cleats dig into the ground. 

My two hands, purposeful. My eyes, focused. My resolve, steeled.

I look to the sky and see cloud cover. I look to the sky and see rain in the future.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. I swing. The muffled sound of the catcher's glove.

Strike one.

I refocus. Pitcher signals. Two fingers. One open palm. The catcher shuffles behind me.

I grind my teeth together. I pull my hat up. I ready my bat.

My whiskers twitch.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. I swing. The muffled sound of the catcher's glove.

Strike two.

Pitter patter all around me. Rain from the cloud cover.

I feel her gaze on me. She waits.

I breathe. My sigh breathes fog. I settle in.

I shut my eyes. I listen to the pitcher.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. I swing. The sharp noise of a shattered bat.

I open my eyes and see it flying away.

Lightning flash. I look up as I walk to first. She looks down at me.

Great leviathan. Mother. I am her trusted.

Her body snakes through the air. She coats the sky.

Nobody else looks up but me.

My feet touch the plate.

Thunder strikes. Rain comes down heavy.

She wails into the night in celebration. Euphoria.

I carry myself forward to second. Cheering from the stands.

"Cain is able."

I am able.

My feet touch the plate.

I look towards the dugout as I walk to third.

He stares back at me. Thumbs up. Smiles.

I smile as well. I thumbs up at him. I point to the sky.

He looks up. His smile does not fade. He sees her happy.

My feet touch the plate.

My track is set. My mind is clear. Home is in front of me.

My gentle walk leaves no trace behind as the stadium begins to flood.

The lightning flashes. The thunder strikes.

Richmond howls from the dugout. His mother howls back.

I hear their celebration. I hear his wanting to be with her.

I hear her love for her son.

I step to home plate. The umpire calls score.

I hear the crackling of a Microphone.

Ringing stops the rain. I watch her fly away. The water freezes in the air.

My eyes go blurry. My heartbeat uneven. My soul reverberating. Feedback.

The sands around me shift and swirl.

My vision, obscured.

I wake up. I am on home plate. I look at my uniform.

Still blue.

I look towards the sky. She is not there.

I look towards the dugout. He is not there.

Where did you go, brother?

There is only a shark in your place.


	2. When will you come back?

The machine wakes up.

_Whirr._

I steady my breath. I steady my bat.

_Ca-chunk._

The blaseball comes directly at me.

_Crack!_

I connect. It flies out of the arena.

_Whirr._

I see nothing in the sky.

I dig my feet into the plate.

My fingers are numb. My mind is cold.

The clouds remain unbroken. _Ca-chunk._

All that is left is

_Crack!_

the holes I leave in its canopy.

_Whirr._

No more thunder. No more lightning.

The lights aren't even on anymore.

I flit my eyes between the bases. _Ca-chunk._

Nobody will wait

_Crack!_

for me anymore.

_Whirr._

Someone steps out from the dugout.

Heavy beard. Soft expression.

Ortiz says nothing as he watches. _Ca-chunk._

I say nothing as

_Crack!_

I swing my blaseball bat.

_Whirr._

"I could pitch for you," he offers.

He does not know I am alone.

I do not look at him. _Ca-chunk._

"Maybe you'd like

_Crack!_

a friend right now?"

_Whirr._

"I had singular purpose," I say.

"I nested my life within it."

"God's mission for me was clear." _Ca-chunk._

"I have failed

_Crack!_

my closest friend."

_Whirr._

He walks behind me. Catcher.

"Are you really sure about that?"

The dirt shifts as he squats. _Ca-chunk._

"Maybe things just

_Fwump!_

aren't as clear as you think."

_Whirr._

I lower my bat, untouched by the blaseball.

Ortiz holds it in his hand.

"How dare you, Morse."

My voice is not as loud as I meant it to be.

"You act as though purpose is made."

I turn around. He stands up.

"You act as if any of us have a choice."

I grab him by the collar. I bare my teeth.

"You act as if there is mystery. There is no mystery."

I rip the ball from him. My claws cut a gash through the glove.

Unintentional.

He backs off.

"That hurts, Hobbs." He checks his hand.

I spit on the ground.

"I care no longer."

He looks at me. His eyes are wide.

"Hobbs, I know this has been hard for you--"

"Do you REALLY?!" I scream.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF ME?!"

The rain has started again.

I AM A CHILD OF CAUTIOUS PURSUIT AND PARTICULAR ASPECT!

There is more than one voice in mine.

I AM THE GUIDE FOR LIGHTNING AND THUNDER!

They crash behind me. The wind lifts me up.

I AM THE MISSIONARY OF CREATURES FORGOTTEN AND THE TERROR THAT SWEEPS THIS DIAMOND!

The lights flicker.

I AM THE CHOSEN OF LEVIATHANS AND I HAVE.

I HAVE.

i have.

"...Hobbs?"

"I have failed in so many ways."

The wind ceases to lift me.

I fall. Morse catches me.

My useless arms and useless legs flop into his embrace.

I am crying now into this idiot man's chest.

I wish I were alone.


	3. There is nothing left for me anymore.

I step up to the plate. My stance widens. The spikes on my cleats dig into the ground. 

My two hands, shaking. My eyes, unfocused. My resolve, exhausted.

I look to the sky and see cloud cover. I look to the sky. I do not know the future.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. I barely swing. The muffled sound of the catcher's glove.

Strike one.

My shoulders slump. The pitcher doesn't need to signal. The catcher stands still.

My jaw hangs slack. I take my hat off. My bat hangs from my grip.

My whiskers stopped twitching yesterday.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. I don't swing. The muffled sound of the catcher's glove.

Strike two.

Pitter patter all around me. Rain. I didn't see it coming.

Where has her gaze gone?

I breathe fog and regret. I sit on home plate.

I shut my eyes. I listen to the pitcher throw.

The whizzing sound of the blaseball. The muffled sound of the catcher's glove.

The umpire calls an out. 

I look up at his green uniform. Cerveza.

I do not know him. He walks toward me.

"You okay? You kinda quit in the middle there."

I do not respond. He does not know how alone I am.

He squats down next to me.

A hand on my shoulder.

I do not understand what is wrong with sympathy.

To care for a friend is a powerful thing.

I have seen that purity in a salamander's eyes.

Why does it hurt so much to be cared for?

Why does his touch drive spikes through my heart?

The blood of Morse has dried on my claws.

I still have not apologized.

He still has not asked.

I look at the sky above me. Rain runs down my cheek.

How can it be so empty with so many clouds?

The dugout has too much space in it now.

My locker-mate is a shark I do not recognize.

When Richmond's clothes did not fit, I sewed him new ones.

The shark rips off his uniform like it is nothing.

"Hey, we gotta move," says Cerveza.

I look at him. There is an umpire before us.

I see the lick of brimstone around its eyes.

I stand and stare deep into it.

It takes a step back.

"Hobbs, dude, get out of the way."

He steps in front of me. I can sense his fear.

Does he know he is about to die?

I look back up to the sky.

I ask for a favor.

Thunder crashes down and strikes the announcer's podium.

The umpire's mouth lights up.

A dizzying cacophony. A brilliant light.

I can see clearly, my purpose once more.

I put my jacket around him. The fire burns my fingers.

The noise ends.

The hellfire crackles.

Cerveza is unharmed. Fixed in shock.

I step past him with bare chest and bare arms.

I walk to the dugout on the other side of the field.

I sit with my team.

There was nothing left for me anymore.


End file.
